


The Price of Love

by BayBee45



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Clones, Coruscant (Star Wars), Coruscant Guard, F/M, Rating: PG13, Reader-Insert, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, the coruscant guard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BayBee45/pseuds/BayBee45
Summary: What does it cost to be with a man who is seen as nothing more then a disposable weapon.
Relationships: Clone Troopers (Star Wars)/Reader, Commander Thorn/reader
Kudos: 23





	The Price of Love

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Commander Thorn/reader   
> Warnings: PG-13, follows canon and has Unhealthy Coping skills.

The sun was lazily breaking the horizon, as if the star itself was unsure whether it should wake up. In your dreaming haze you hear the flowing water of the shower in the fresher. Your mind -- the amazing three pound organ that it is -- seamlessly adds this new effect to your picturesque dream.

_You're waiting for your love to return, by the calming ebb and flow of a turquoise lake._

The morning light trickles in pass the half opened blinds. Like ethereal fingers, their feather light touch beckon you softly to wake up. In sleepy defiance you however, turn over, your bare back now exposed to the suns embrace.

 _A light breaze whips across the soft cresting waves on the shoreline. The light mist cools your face as sunlight flickers through the low hanging branches of your shaded oasis._

Crisp water droplets fall on your skin, causing your muscles to jump after each tiny, harmless shock. A calloused finger tip gently traces through the pooling water in abstract shapes. The landscape of your lake country turns misty, slowly fading to the background as you begin to awake.

_A promised vacation fulfilled, a secret honeymoon._

"Good morning cyar'ika." He kisses into the space between your neck and your shoulder.

"It's to early for it to be good yet, Thorn." You mumble into your pillow with a half smile.

"Awww, let me see what I can do about that." He coos softly as he joins you in a blanket fort made for two. His kisses trail up your back and across your shoulder as he pulls you in closer. His stubbled face nuzzles into your neck, whispering sweet nothing with each tender kiss.

"I can stop... if you want me too?"

"It's a lil to late for that now isn't it?" You said shifting around to face him. His amber eyes burned brighter and warmer then the golden morning glow that now bathed the room. Wrapping your arms around his neck your hands combed through his damp hair. Dark strands just beginning to curl around your fingers. He would say he was due for a cut but for now he was letting it be because you liked it a bit longer. 

Your moment of marital bliss is interrupted by a demanding comlink, angrily beeping in background. You both try to ignore it. Thorn let's out a resigned sigh and gives you one last lingering kiss. Letting out a small chuckle as if to say 'sorry' he pulls away from you, grabbing the comlink from the side table.

Your eyes narrow with growing annoyance from the disruption. By working alot of overtime and through good old fashion begging you had managed to get three weeks off. Even though you knew it would be impossible for Thorn to have that much time, you were expecting at least a week of uninterrupted alone time with your new husband. A price you pay to be with a Commander of the Coruscant Guard you guess. Thorn was always on call.

He sits back on the edge of the bed. You come up behind him, arms coming around his broad and overworked shoulders, half eavesdropping, half just trying to distract him.

"Right...right away... sir." He stutters finishing the call, trying to keep a small veneer of composer through all the barely there kisses you have been leaving on his skin.

"I have to escort Senator Amidala to Scipio." "When?"

"Now." he said his voice painted with disappointment as he half turns to face you.

"Have to get everything prepared and the men ready for take off later this afternoon."

"Did you really, wake me up just to tease me like that!?" You complain and dramatically fall back with a loud sigh.

"I'm sorry cyar'ika." Thorn said leaning back for a kiss.

"You can kiss me when you get back, you little tease." You huffed throwing your pillow at him for good measure. He lets out a half whine half laugh.

"I love you cyar'ika." "Mmm hmmm." You croon turning over to fall back asleep. 

**_For the Republic!_ **

The funny thing about the worst moment in your life is you don't know until after the fact. Until after the unrelenting timer has already counted down to zero. Exploding and tearing you away from every preconceived thought you had. The future that once was so clear and bright was now shrouded in thick, noxious darkness. Questions, regrets, like hot shrapnel sear through you.

_Why didn’t I... What If... If only I did something... Why didn’t I... What If... If only... Why didn’t I kiss you goodbye... What If made up an excuse for you to stay... If only... Why didn’t I... What If... If only... Why didn’t I... What If I’d begged you to stay...Why didn’t I say I love one last time... If only I tried..._

Lodging themselves so deep into the crevices of your mind. You're worried not even time will be able to coax them out, to heal. 

There was no frivolous ceremony given. No funeral was held, not even a body put to rest. No greater meaning or spit-shined purpose tacked on for his death. Thorn was just a weapon. A weapon made out of human flesh and a beating heart. He was nothing more to the Republic then a random set of numbers that had happened to give its self a name. Just a serial number lost and easily replaced. Except he wasn't. Not for you.

He was a person, who name was not his only distinguishing feature. A kind smile and knowing eyes burning with life and love. Who's arms you needed so much right now, to steady you from your shaking limbs. Thorn was a person, Thorn was your person.

Each minute felt like an hour, everyone more difficult then the last. Crying so hard you would leave yourself breathless. It was a small relief from the suffocating 'what ifs' and 'maybes', that had become like a well worn paths in your mind. In the end you knew nothing would bring him back, no matter how much you pleaded and cried to an unhearing diety.

The days slowly bleed into each other. The silence rings deafeningly in your ears, in this place that was once called 'ours'. You make ill-fated attempts to distract yourself from your cracked and crumbling world. You shower with his soap and call his office to hear his voice one more time, for the thousandth time. On a whim you put on his favorite dress and the candy apple red lipstick that he said made your lips sweet and hard to resist. You want so desperately to see his face, to feel him again, you head out to 79s.

It’s almost his touch but not quite, its not really his face, just a cheap imitation. But after a few shots burn their way down your throat a cheap imitation passes and after a few more shots, ‘almost’ becomes enough. Still in his favourite dress you stumble into your apartment. The sweet aftertaste of your lips feels more like bile and regret on your tounge. Your eyes long for sleep but your afraid to close them only to see Thorns' eyes, no longer warm but cold and lifeless. All you want to do is forget and collapse in the bed, in our b—. 

Your legs give out under the weight of what you once had tried to bottle up. Sobering thoughts make your late night choices harder to excuse, harder to deal with. Raw emotions liked jagged pieces of glass slice deep with a pain you can not be prepare for. Like a tsunami coming and you having nowhere to go. All you can do is brace yourself for impact and with whatever meager strength you have left, fight to survive. A pain that has to be felt, because words fail utterly to describe. 

The sunlight eventually breaks through the half closed blinds, its touch feels like a branding iron on your tear soaked skin. "

St— stay away from me." You pleaded with tears spilling down your face.

"It's okay I'm here for you." your memories of him try to comfort.

"No...no." your voice cracks. The words barely being able to get out of your ever tightening throat. You try with a sluggish inhale to breathe air, to breathe life into your burning lungs.

"You're not here, that's what's wrong."

Grief is the price you pay. The price you pay for the stolen kisses. For the times you spent wrapped safely in his arms. The price you pay to visit him again in a lifetimes worth of memories cut short. Grief is the price you pay for loving him.


End file.
